Selfless
by Thorne Lockehart
Summary: She swore she would never let him back in, never let him hurt her again. She swore she would never forgive him, but dammit, if he didn't try... Violate, of course. Post season one.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: This is my first AHS fan-fiction. I watched the first season and I became absolutely **_**enthralled _with Violate. Now, I'm terrible at writing ships, so please be a little patient with me...it's kind of ironic that two people can create such a teenage angst-fest like Glee, then turn around and create a mind-fuck like American Horror Story... I got this idea from a Violate video I saw on YouTube. _**

**_Disclaimer: I own no one of American Horror Story. It belongs to their rightful owners. _**

**_Summary: She swore she would never let him back in, never let him hurt her again. She swore she would never forgive him, but dammit, if he didn't try..._**

* * *

Families came and went, but the Harmon family remained. Not by choice, mind you, but they learned to cohabit with the previous owners. Violet learned to adapt a 'it is what it is' attitude about the situation. And then there was Tate, the boy who hurt everyone in her family in a very big way and yet still had the gall to try to make it up to her. She nibbled on the edge of her thumb in frustration before slapping her wrist with a rubber band. It was such a stupid cliché girls used to get over the guys they were in love with, but it was surprisingly effective. When Violet thought about Tate, she merely tugged on the rubber band and she jolted from her thoughts.

Then there was Hayden. There was no lack of trying to sneak Ben from Vivien and she was vindictive enough to try for second-best: Tate Langdon.

_You don't care anymore, _Violet told herself, flicking the band again, twice this time. _You don't care about him. You told him to go away._

She spent her days playing with Beauregard, Tate's brother. Beau was content to just roll the ball back and forth and clap excitedly when it reached his waiting hands.

"Play!" came the excited cry when he saw her. Violet gasped at the sudden outburst.

"Not now, Beau," she told him in a hushed voice. Immediately, his head bowed and he scampered to collect the red ball.

"Play?" he repeated hopefully. Violet shook her head sadly and he let out a disappointed sigh. Ordinarily, she would love to play with him a few rounds, but only if she wanted to roll the ball for hours on end.

"Maybe later," she conceded before walking down the now all too familiar hallway. Her black Converse high-tops scuffed on the worn, squeaking floors as she made her way down the stairs. When she said she loved the house, she hadn't known she would end up staying there for an eternity.

Once upon a time, she would have been fine with eternity in the Murder House. That was when she had Tate and she lived in ignorant bliss of all the evil he had done in his life, both living and dead. Before she knew what a monster he was.

He spent the first year of her eternity begging for her forgiveness. After a while, he kept his distance, but she could feel his dark eyes on her wherever she turned. Violet had always been tempted by darkness, but dipping her feet in it for so long with Darkness personified had burned her. She wanted to forgive him, to love him again, but she couldn't find it in herself to do it. He put on a latex suit and raped her mother. Gave birth to a monster.

_Snap! Snap! Snap! _

Violet dropped her gaze to the rubber band to see it spotted with blood.

"That old rubber-band snapping trick?" came the mocking comment from behind her. Violet turned around to see Hayden standing with her arms folded across her chest and grimaced. "Boy, you really _are _desperate, aren't you?"

"Fuck off," she snarled.

"It's kind of tragic if you think about it, Catherine. Your Heathcliff killed so many people and fathered a child out of rape with your mother while donning a latex BD-SM suit, yet you still love him...that's fifty shades of fucked up," Hayden drawled.

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, you home-wrecking whore?" Violet countered. "At least someone loves me." She felt a jolt of satisfaction at the way Hayden's face fell.

"And you throw him away like yesterday's garbage," Hayden spat.

"Go away!" Violet yelled, squeezing her eyes shut and holding on to her dirty blonde hair in fistfuls. When she opened her eyes, that irritating little redhead vanished. She curled up in the window seat, hugging her knees and staring out the window. "Kiss me again, but don't let me see your eyes. I love my murderer, but yours...how can I?" she murmured the infamous _Wuthering Heights _quote.

"And I pray one prayer. I pray it till my tongue stiffens, Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you...haunt me then! The murdered _do _haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts _do _wander the Earth. Be with me always, take any form...drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss where I cannot find you. Oh, God, it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!"

Tate's quote from the famous tragic novel always beat out what Violet thought Heathcliff sounded like. Smooth and rough, his voice was like velvet.

"I didn't take you a fan of the classics," Violet commented, not taking her eyes from the window. She couldn't; that quote hit far too close to home and fit their situation perfectly, and meeting Tate's dark brown eyes would dissolve her instantly.

"When you have eternity, you tend to spend it doing tedious things. Reading classics, cookbooks...I could probably bake a chocolate-rum soufflé easily," he responded.

A hint of a smile tugged at her lips and she shook her head with a dry chuckle. "You were always so full of shit," she remarked.

"Once upon a time, you loved that," he reminded her. Violet shook her head and nestled closer to the cold glass of the window in her old room. The familiar furniture had long since been thrown out, but her beloved window seat remained, thankfully. "Talk to me, Vi."

"I thought that was what we were doing," she snarked at him.

"Not much of a conversation if you're hellbent on staring out that goddamned window," Tate returned. "How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?"

Violet's hazel eyes snapped up to meet his in shock. "You don't just _apologize _for all the shit you put us through, Tate!" she informed him icily.

Her beautiful, sadistic monster actually looked hurt as he recoiled from her words as if she'd slapped him. Hell, she wished she _had_. "It's in my nature...I thought you understood that," he said.

"And I told you that I can't forgive you until you've paid for what you've done and until you've fixed this!"

She knew he couldn't.

* * *

Tate felt numb. Everywhere. The impulse to go out and do something stupid reared its ugly head once more, but he found himself anchored to his spot. Normally, he would go and pick a fight with one of the queers to satiate his violent cravings, but this time, he resisted.

Violet was responsible for this change and he both hated and loved it. Tate never felt like this about anyone before Violet and he wouldn't ever feel the same way about anyone after her. She changed the darkness into light, the monster into a tame beast. He had never felt like he could do anything because of someone and she made him believe he could.

He told her that he would leave her alone if it was what she wanted, but deep down, it killed him to keep his distance. Violet Harmon was his angel, the only light in the hellhole that was the Murder House. Tate was love-starved without her. Constance had neglected him, belittled him, abused him...

But the first person to show him any affection was Nora Montgomery and she was a fucking _ghost. _The other person to show him any love that he felt he could freely reciprocate was Violet. She pushed him away, yelled at him to leave her alone and go away, but it broke her heart as well as his.

He heard a crunch and looked down to see his dead black rose under his shoe. Tears immediately flooded his vision as he picked up the dry bloom. Memories of when he gave it to his odd little flower raced through his mind.

_"I know how you don't like normal things."_

Tate stroked the petals and inhaled it. Old paint and dead rose fragrance filled his senses and his eyes squeezed shut.

Fuck it. He would try one more time to get back the love of his life, to make her his for eternity.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Wow, I got two really great responses! Truth be told, I wasn't expecting any response, but this is great! C:**_

* * *

So Tate tried again. He found himself fed up with being a martyr. Martyrdom was complete bullshit in his opinion. His happiness was completely wrapped up in one girl.

They called him a monster incapable of differentiating between right and wrong, but they were wrong. He felt it in his gut how wrong his actions were, how badly he hurt the ones around him. A psychopath, by Ben's definition.

Hell, he probably _was _psychopathic, because he only cared about his actions affecting one person. He cared about one person other than himself, which sure was _something, _considering he cared about himself a lot.

_Snap! Snap! Snap! _He heard it again. One good thing about becoming a ghost was his uncanny hearing. When they were alive, he could hear everything the Harmon's did. The scratch of Ben's pen on paper when he dealt with patients, the clicking of toenails as Hallie padded through the house, the rustle of sheets while Vivien napped, the hiss of the water when Violet showered.

And Tate knew what the snapping meant. He saw the drops of blood on Violet's raw wrist when he stood in her room to talk to her. The thought of her masochism coming back in full swing made him smile that arrogant smile of his. She hurt herself to try to make herself forget about him. It was one thing if she could leave the house and meet someone new, but now her options limited between Hugo, himself, Beau, that moron Dallas, Dr. Montgomery, those smart-mouth asshole twins, Constance's boy toy, or the overweight, middle-aged terminator with a serious Schwarzenegger shtick who found her body. Though Violet was morbid, Tate highly doubted she would consider that murder-obsessed asshole a viable option for a mate. And though she liked Beau, his vocal skills limited to grunting and 'play!'

It left him and Hugo. While Hugo had a thing for young women, as proven by his liaisons with Moira and Hayden, Violet didn't have daddy issues. That also erased the choices of the Arnold wannabe and Dr. Montgomery. Plus, Thaddeus was pretty fucking scary. Metaphorically waking up to a face not even his mother could love was a very unattractive option. Travis was attractive and charming, but Tate had the lead.

_And what are you? School shooter, drugged up, sociopath with serious mama issues. What the fuck did she see in me in the first place? _Tate wondered. He had memorized Emily Bronte for her after sitting in her room to see her asleep in her chair with the book on her stomach. Life was cruel. He wanted Violet for all eternity and he had her, but he repulsed her.

If he could get Vivien to forgive him, then Violet could.

Vivien was the key! She had always been the key!

Sitting in the cold, dank basement was depressing enough without the snarls and hisses of Thaddeus pacing behind the cement walls to add to his paranoia. He remembered when that horrid little beast attacked him when he was five and Nora had rescued him. He picked up his old toy truck, the yellow dented metal cold to the touch.

"Tate!" he heard Violet say.

No matter how angry she was with him, they always did people-watching together. If she called him now, this meant a new family was moving in. He made his way toward her room to peer out the window. Sure enough, a huge U-Haul was in the driveway and a massive pickup truck parked on the curb. There were three children; a teenage girl and twin boys in their early teens.

And then there was fucking Marcy. That bitch realtor who conveniently left things out when showing a home to clients.

"God, fucking Marcy _again_?" Violet hissed. "When will that stupid office learn she's a shitty agent?"

"They think she's their best bet. If they could get a better listing agent, then there's a better chance they wouldn't have to dupe so many people," Tate agreed grimly. He glanced at her. "What do you think _they're _into?" He turned to nod at the parents. The wife was a totally smoking redhead with a million-dollar body while the husband looked like a seventies porn star.

Violet snorted and rolled her eyes. "I'm thinking...swingers? Or maybe those kids aren't really theirs and they're kidnapping them because they're planning on murdering them here," she said.

"Violet, that's very dark," Tate commented, impressed. "Death and the Murder House has changed you."

"Not like I was Miss Mary Sunshine before," she retorted.

_And that's what I loved about you, _he thought as he took in her amused hazel eyes and her full red lips turned in a bright, beaming smile.

"And besides, Murder House lives to cater to your every dark whim, remember?"

"How could I forget?" he mused morbidly. He looked down to the daughter and how she dressed. It was unseasonably warm in January, yet she wore a black sweater and jeans. And not even a low-cut sweater, it was a turtleneck. "Think she cuts, too?"

"Maybe," Violet conceded slowly, squinting her eyes. "He looks like some sort of happy white guy/child molester."

"We won't know until tonight," Tate commented. He lifted her wrist to look at the raw edges on it, already healed. Violet struggled to pull her wrist from his grip, but it tightened. "Lost your razor?"

"It's none of your business," she snapped, her eyes flashing.

"I've had enough of you playing _Queer Eye for the Straight Guy!" _Patrick roared from the downstairs bedroom.

"Doesn't he mean _Queer Eye for the Even Queerer Guy?" _Tate said, dropping her wrist. He held up the rubber band. "Snapping your wrist will only work for so long, Vi."

"Don't call me that," Violet said angrily. She rounded on him, jerking her chin up to meet his eyes. "Leave me alone, Tate. Go away!"

_Shit..._

* * *

Violet was left standing in her old bedroom by herself when she opened her eyes. Her wrist felt naked from the lack of rubber band, so she scrounged around for another. The door to the room opened and she saw the blonde girl in the black sweater. She fixed the nightstand with wide blue eyes before shutting the drawer.

Oh, right. The living couldn't see her unless Violet wanted them to.

"Taylor! You still have more boxes!" someone called from downstairs. The blonde girl set down the box and walked out.

So Taylor was her name. Violet poked through the box to see what sort of personal effects her room's new tenant had. Stones, Sex Pistols, Black Sabbath...whoever this girl was, her music seriously rocked.

Thundering footsteps and laughter alerted her to turn her head and she saw two boys running through the hall.

"They're gonna break their necks if they don't slow down," Vivien commented from the doorway. Violet glanced up at her mother before pulling a rubber band from the box and slipping it around her uninjured wrist. "Let's hope they figure out the darkness in this house before the darkness finds out about them."

Violet could see Tate in the hall, but he made no effort to come into the room, thank goodness. She considered having him in the same room and conversing with small talk as an improvement and not shunning him every time she so much as caught a whiff of his unique smell, but there was a long way to go before she could even look him in the eye and not be sickened by what she saw now. And even longer before she could even consider opening herself to him again.

Tate Langdon made it hard as hell to say no to him. He was a skilled manipulator, but what should shake Violet to the core was how human he could make himself seem. He was a social chameleon, constantly blending in, but he wasn't so one-dimensional. That was the Tate that Violet fell in love with.

The Tate that showed gentleness towards Beau when Beau horrified the others by. The way he protected Violet from Thaddeus on every occasion that presented itself. The tenderness that glowed in his chocolate-colored eyes when he looked at her and only her. How he touched her as if she'd been created of glass but treated her like she'd been created of concrete.

How even in her heart of hearts, she couldn't truly hate him. In the truest sense of the word, Tate was a monster, her beast. In a sick and twisted modern-day Wuthering Heights/Beauty and the Beast, Violet Harmon was both Catherine and Belle and he was both the Beast and Heathcliff.

Vivien tolerated Tate, that much was clear. She did it out of pure courtesy, though she didn't have to. Who Vivien had to be courteous to, Violet didn't know and frankly, didn't care. New families interested her up to a point before they grew tedious and boring. Soon, the Duncan's would have to go.

She held Tate's gaze for a few more stagnant heartbeats before tearing away and going to the balcony.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: I know you guys are a little worried that the new girl might turn Tate's head, but don't worry...endgame is Violate!**_

_**Usually, I'm so good about responding to reviews and I feel horrible that I haven't done that...**_

_**Jan: Aw, I'm so glad you like this! Nice catch on to that ;D I won't give anything away!  
**_

_**Star: Language, for one. And the fact that there's smut planned for this story - eventually. But thanks for reading!  
**_

_**Sara: Just remember...Violate is endgame ;D  
**_

* * *

With every new family comes new secrets. The Duncan's secret was that Wayne was abusive toward Taylor. She wore long sleeves to cover up the bruises and she holed up in her room when he came home to hide from him.

"Your stepfather's an ass," Violet commented, making herself known for the first time. Taylor whirled around to face her with wide eyes. "I'm Violet."

"What the hell are you doing in my room?" she demanded.

"This was my room," Violet explained, giving the blonde a look. She took in the posters and the layout with disdain. "Your music seems cool, but your taste in posters really suck."

"This may have been your room, but this is my room now. Go away!" Taylor told her angrily. The room disappeared around the edges.

Standing in the basement, Violet knew how Tate felt. The sound of angry rap music played from the upper level and the sound of pounding made the volume decrease.

"Doesn't feel too good, does it?" came the mocking voice of Hayden.

_When will that bitch learn that no one wanted her?_ Violet thought in irritation. She rolled her eyes and faced the annoying redhead again. "You're really good at showing up when no one wants you."

Hayden was the T totally last person Violet wanted to see in that moment.

"That's exactly how Tate feels."

And Hayden knew exactly how to twist the knife. Violet felt her cold mask slip ever so slightly but she glared balefully up at Hayden with her fists clenched by her side. The scratch behind the walls made her stagnant blood feel like ice in her veins when she heard a hiss. When there was tension in the house (which there was more often than not) Thaddeus began to creep out from his little home in the bricks.

"If you don't calm down, you're gonna make Thaddeus come out and play. And I don't think you want a repeat of what happened last time," Hayden remarked. The pasty white...thing in question leaped and Violet felt it knock her on the ground. Razor sharp claws raked at her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut. Pain lanced through her body and she tried to fight back. Her mind stumbled over the words in her mind to make it stop.

"Go away!" she finally shrieked. And as quickly as the weight happened upon her, it vanished. Violet struggled to her feet to see Hayden laughing hysterically. Bitch. She examined the bloody mess that was her baggy heather grey dress and her leggings. Her last good bra had gotten slashed to shreds, she realized with a defeated sigh. Now it left her stuck with her tank tops with the shelf bra. "Fuck you."

"No thanks, I'm out of my experimental phase," Hayden said as she walked upstairs. If she tried, she could probably get the pervert's rocks off; she was very talented at preying on bastards' weaknesses.

"Oh believe me, you'd be the _last _on my list," Violet snarled as she tried to find something to salvage her tattered cardigan. She wrapped the remains around herself and searched for her box in the basement. After she found some clothes, she would wait until they were all gone or asleep.

She relished the times when she was alone, but though she didn't need it, she craved cigarettes. She craved the calming effect of nicotine (which she could really use right then because she felt pissed off beyond belief) and the solitude that came from sneaking them. Unfortunately, Wayne hid the cigarettes in his truck, which he took to work. Lydia was a firm believer in no smoking and there was stagnant cigarette smoke in Taylor's room, which meant she didn't smoke either.

The lame-ass music from the twins' room above her head made her roll her eyes as she looked through the drawers of the master bedroom until a cardboard box caught her eye.

"Really? Stealing cigarettes from the newbies? Low even for you."

Tate's voice made her whirl around in surprise. He held up a carton of Marlboro cigarettes, wiggling them in his hand. His dark eyes raked up and down her frame, a pucker of a frown knitting between his eyebrows as he took in her ruined attire. "Thaddeus?"

"Yeah. That little rat bastard got me when I wasn't expecting it," Violet replied with annoyance. Even though she tried to shun him, Tate was always her twisted black knight in scuffed armor. Always would be.

"Let's get you cleaned up and we can put these to good use behind the shed," he suggested.

"I can do it," she insisted. She knew she should pick her battles, but she felt that old hum of a connection towards him again. Deep down, she knew she would never be fully rid of him. She didn't want to hurt him, as she was very up front about her feelings on his actions.

"It's a compromise, Vi," he said gently. His fingers wrapped carefully around her arm and tugged her towards the bathroom. She tilted her head to look at him quizzically. "Nothing funny, alright?" He glared in Thaddeus' general direction and mumbled something under his breath. Something about a muzzle.

She followed him downstairs and into the bathroom.

"Don't worry, the blonde's not much of a babysitter. Those two are probably looking up porno and trying to do phone sex over Skype," he assured her. She snorted and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. Tate took the clothes from her free arm and spread it out on the counter. Violet tried to look busy as he pulled rags out of the drawer.

When they finished cleaning up, she tied her hair back in a messy pony-tail. Usually she didn't care whether her hair was a mess or not, but it felt good to scrape it off the back of her neck for once.

When she turned around, Tate was gone.

* * *

Tate found himself on the floor in the attic, indulging in a game with his brother. He rolled the ball back and forth to a very delighted Beau.

"Yeah, I haven't done this in a while, have I, buddy?" he commented. Beau said nothing, his dark eyes focused intently on the red ball coming toward him. His chains rattled as he thumped on the floor to pounce on the ball. "Hush, do you want the new people to hear you?" Tate said, putting a finger to his lips. He heard Constance downstairs with Taylor, the new girl. He didn't really care about what happened to people usually, but the fact that her stepfather was a sick pervert unsettled him more than a little.

Beau clapped his clumsy hands in happiness when he caught the ball. Tate watched him enviously. To his brother, there was no greater joy than a simple game of ball. He didn't have to worry about relationships or people wanting to hurt him.

"T-Tay?" Beau said, looking up at Tate hopefully. He never could get the name right, but Tay was close enough. "Play? Ball?"

"Roll it here," Tate instructed. Instead, the ball bounced to him and he caught it easily. He'd been at this for about an hour, but the overjoyed boy never faltered. "I know you usually like it when Violet plays with you."

The sound of the attic door creaking made him freeze and he turned to see a mop of messy brown hair climb up the ladder.

"Dude, Will, you gotta come see this!" he called downstairs.

"Play!" Beau said excitedly. The twin's eyes bulged and he let out a yell of shock and surprise.

"Taylor!"

_Shit..._


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Back...sorry about that delay, guys. By the way, the perfect Violate song is "Like Sugar" by Matchbox Twenty  
**_

* * *

Tate froze when people came up to the attic and he willed himself to disappear. He needed to get to basement where Thaddeus was. There, he would be safe for a little while. But Beau, with his mental delay, wouldn't be able to get out of there in time and Tate couldn't leave his brother. Beau had enough people leaving him to last him a lifetime.

So Tate said those words that would shatter his poor little brother's heart. "Go away, Beau!" he ordered, squeezing his eyes shut. He disappeared and made his way to the basement.

"Tate, what's wrong?" Nora asked once he made it there. Tate looked up at the sound of thundering footsteps.

"It seems one of the twins discovered Tate and his brother in the attic. Beau still doesn't exactly understand when to disappear yet," Moira explained patiently. Tate looked around desperately for Beau. He couldn't have banished his brother from his side...could he? "He can't come near you until you call him back."

"Beau?" he called tentatively. A quiet rattle of chains in the corner alerted him. "You can come back now."

Beau let out a quiet sigh, the dim basement light illuminating an utterly heartbroken look in his dark eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Beau. I had to get you out of there so I could save you. Those people might have wanted to hurt you," Tate explained, bending down on his knees. He felt around for a ball and found his dented yellow truck.

Beau didn't budge when Tate slid the truck toward him. "Tay?" he said in his garbled speech. "Go 'way?"

"Not anymore, buddy," Tate assured him. Finally, the truck came rolling back towards him and he felt a smile of relief spread on his face. They were family; they had to stick together. It was just him and Beau there of his family, besides Hugo. After Tate learned the truth about his father, he couldn't stomach being in the same room as him. As far as Tate felt concerned, Beau was the only family he had left. Addie was dead and on the other side and Nathan was somewhere else doing God knows what. Constance was a bridge he had burned long ago.

"I know I saw something up in the attic, Taylor! If you don't believe me, they might be in the basement, too!" a voice from upstairs said. Vivien looked at the basement door nervously.

"I don't like this at all. They might have to leave sooner than expected," she commented. The door opened and the blonde girl in question came down the stairs. "Let's hope we can at least save the girl. No one should have to go through what she's going through."

"Will, Wayne, come down here and see for yourself...there's nothing down here!" she said in exasperation. She crossed her arms over her chest, challenging whoever was down there. Tate watched silently from the shadows while Taylor held out her arms. "Come on, whoever you are! If you're down here, show your smug faces!"

"You don't want to do that," he finally said. Taylor spun around, fixing him with wide blue eyes. "There are a few spirits here who might take that as a challenge. And they're not very nice."

_Run away, Taylor. Don't challenge these spirits...Thaddeus...Patrick...Chad...they'll all hurt you, _he thought. Once upon a time, he would rank himself as the most vengeful spirit in the house. Now he didn't feel a senseless need to hurt everyone he met.

"Who the fuck are you?" Taylor demanded, her eyes flashing like blue fire. Tate snorted and stepped into the dim basement light.

"Someone who is probably the only friend you have at this very moment," he replied. He heard a scuffle of someone behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see Nora behind him, holding baby Jeffrey in her arms.

"Did you scare my step-brothers?" Taylor asked, narrowing her eyes accusingly. This was why Tate didn't usually interact with the residents of the house, especially the girls, save for Violet.

"Unintentionally," he responded. He saw Moira standing on the steps, lips pursed in disapproval.

"Miss Taylor, I've prepared your tea," she informed her. The blonde glanced towards the stairs before nodding her assent to Moira and made her way towards them.

"I want you ghosts out of this fucking house," she snarled. Tate snorted.

"Look, if we had a choice, we'd be on the other side already. All of us. None of us wanna be here," he returned. When Taylor stomped up the steps, he heard someone behind him.

"What a bitch. Think she could use a therapist or a consensual lay?" Hayden sneered. Tate curled his lip in disgust. God, the ghosts were such losers. "You should knock her up, Tate...maybe a baby would do her some good."

"Of all the people in this goddamned house, I think I like you the least. You're above the ass bandits...congrats," he threw back. He looked over at Beau, who stared at him sadly. The only person who wanted him around and one of the few he actually liked in return. "Come on, buddy...let's go back up to the attic."

* * *

Violet sat in the living room, curled up on the sofa with Jeffrey in her arms. Some boring soap opera was on, but there was nothing else on TV. To make matters funnier, it was all in Spanish.

"You've loved those ever since you were a little girl," Vivien commented next to her. Violet glanced up before a smirk flickered on her lips.

"I like to make up what happens," she explained. Jeffrey slept soundly in the crook of her arm and despite herself, Violet craned her neck down and kissed his downy head. Even though he was dead, he still had that sweet baby scent.

Making up scenarios for Spanish soap operas was a past-time she once shared with Tate. She banished him from her side and now he kept his distance. This time, he stood in the car port, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Jeffrey stirred beside her and Violet shifted her body to not wake him up. Her mother scooped him up into her arms, her body automatically curving to the baby's nestling form. Violet watched her intently. How did Vivien know exactly how to shift, how to tune in to how he fussed, whether he needed a nap, a diaper change, or a bottle?

When the credits rolled, Violet stood up from the couch to find something to do. No one was home, save for Lydia, who was sick today, so she couldn't even break the silence using Taylor's horrible music (she'd discovered some stupid modern-day boy band and played their CD on loop for hours on end) or with the twins' shitty rap music. Thank God Halloween was coming up. Violet decided she would get out and do something.

Her finger trailed over her laptop keys in her old room and she opened Pandora. The sound of Matchbox Twenty's 'Like Sugar' began playing through the alternative station and her lips moved to form the lyrics of the song.

_I'm walking behind you  
__Calling the way you  
__Give away all your secrets  
__You're taking the high road  
__And picking your battles  
__Just the day I found you_

_I just wanna make you go away  
But you taste like sugar  
Yeah, you taste like sugar  
I just wanna make you go away  
But you taste like sugar  
Yeah, you taste like sugar_

_I'm starting to want you  
More than I want to  
This ain't my finest hour  
There's something about you  
That I could get into  
Something that's deep inside you_

After that verse ended, Violet quickly exited the window and shut her Macbook. She shook her head, her dirty blonde hair flying in front of her eyes.

God, she needed to get a fucking grip before she psyched herself into the next century. Violet went down to the basement to play with Margaret and Angie. They sat around a little white plastic table, pretending to pour tea in cups, Travis between them. With Jeffrey sleeping, there really wasn't anything to do.

She could probably torment Chad and Patrick, but that only kept her busy for a little while and Scrabble by herself didn't sound very appealing. Chess with her dad was a lost cause because Ben was too damn good.

"Tate?" she said finally. There was a scuffle behind her and she saw him standing next to her.

"You're not gonna make me go away again, are you?" he inquired softly. She looked up at him and shook her head.

"We're in this together, Tate," she murmured.


End file.
